


Breakfast on the Solstice

by starofvelaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starofvelaris/pseuds/starofvelaris
Summary: Feyre awakens one morning in the Velaris townhouse to find a breakfast celebration awaiting her with a new family she hadn't realized she had become apart of.~ Fluff-tastic, Inner Circle banter, set during ACOMAF ~





	Breakfast on the Solstice

My bedroom was dim in the morning light, the soft blush of sunrise just beginning to creep through the vines from the courtyard below. I rolled over, eyes bleary from waking so suddenly, my chest heaving from residual fear.  
  
It had been another nightmare. I hadn’t been tossing and turning and burning the sheets with ember-tipped fingers as the countless nights before. No…I had been so deep in the death-like slumber that I had awoken from the dream like a corpse floating on water; heavy and immobile with despair.

With some difficultly, I sat myself up in bed, letting the fear that bled into the edges of my waking dissolve like a mist. I searched the room for something to focus my attention on… _anything_ else but the lingering images from the nightmare.

My eyes found a wooden figurine on the bedside table, and something in me eased at that. I trained my gaze on it, marking its curves and noting the way the dim morning rays hit its planes, trying to imagine how I might capture that shape of light in a sketch.

The figurine depicted a wolf, howling at some invisible moon, carved from a pale wood I wished I had thought to ask the shopkeeper to identify. I had bought it three days prior, at a small shop tucked away in a corridor of the Rainbow. I had been the sole customer browsing the store that chilly afternoon. The shopkeeper had been a kind old faerie, a wood carver who crafted the most exquisite forms of all manner of beast, fae and human alike. I had stood drinking in the details of each piece for what must have been an hour, perhaps hoping to absorb some of his style in my own paintings, I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until Rhysand had found me, after finishing whatever errands he had been doing in the city while I shopped, that I was forced to leave. But not before taking home one of my own and paying the shopkeeper twice what he asked. If not just to compliment the artist, but to also see the look of quiet amusement and annoyance on Rhysand’s face as I told the man to charge to The High Lord’s personal account.

I swallowed guiltily at the memory. Not at the payment trick, no…at the thought of art. Painting. The quiet pride of the shopkeeper at his trove of crafts, of creations had sent a wave of sadness through me, and I hadn’t understood until then. That pride was a feeling I had not gotten the chance to revel in, not before… _her._ Not before she had snuffed it out my desire to paint. It was now as dead as my human body had been Under the Mountain.

My breath caught, and I stymied the flow of unwanted memories of that place, of what had been done there, to me and by me. I threw the thoughts away as I stood weakly from my bed, abandoning any hope of falling back asleep.  
  
As I pulled on my silken dressing gown and stepped into the cozy wool slippers cast lazily under the large oak bed, I tried to take some encouragement in the face that I hadn’t yet vomited like all the times before. Indeed, my stomach even growled lightly in hunger, and I took that as a good sign.  
  
I crept down the stairs, tip-toing past the High Lord’s bedroom, though I had no idea if he were even slumbering within. He had been gone on and off for weeks, and I would not admit to myself the disappointment I felt each night I had returned to the Townhouse to find him not there for dinner.   
  
The downstairs living areas were quiet and calm in the morning stillness, but my fae ears picked up the distant clatter coming from the kitchen in the back of the house. So I pivoted from my original path to the sitting room in favor of investigating. I hesitantly pushed the wide swinging oak door open, and was greeted with an assault of sight and smell.  
  
Cerridwen and Nuala were up, their shadowed forms bustling back and forth among the stove and pantries, preparing what looked to be enough food to feed a few dozen fae. They smiled widely at me, not stopping int heir swift and purposeful work. There was a smudge of flour on Nuala’s obsidian face, and Cerridwen was wearing a frilly apron, almost humorously contrasting to her dark, glittering robes underneath.

“Good morning, Feyre, darling,” Rhysand’s elegant voice greeted me as I finally entered the kitchen hesitantly. My head snapped to the side to find the High Lord perched on a stool in the corner, back resting against the wall as he looked over a stack of documents. He was fully dressed, having evidently been up for a good while despite the arly hour. I could just see Morrigan beyond through the propped open back doors, lounging sleepily in one of the iron benches, her golden curls uncharacteristically disheveled.  
  
“Good morning,” I replied, a bit awkwardly, not sure what else to do but sit on one of the stools beside him, letting the wafting smells of eggs and sizzling vegetables meet my nose.  
  
“Sleep well?” Rhys asked casually, though I could sense the veiled concern in his tone.  
  
“As good as usual,” I mumbled with a shrug, and I thought I might have seen his brow wince ever-so-slightly. I took a stray piece of fruit from a basket on the counter, rolling it around in my hand nervously.

“Expecting company?” I gestured broadly at the expanse of platters and meal prepping. Nuala met my gaze with a tight smile, and jerked her head in the direction of Mor outside.  
  
“Only the usual,” Rhysand muttered dryly, not looking up as he made a note of something on one of his documents, his free hand running absent-mindedly over his chin. He looked rather scholarly, and I bit back a laugh at the thought of Rhysand as a crotchety old librarian, stuck in the stacks through the day.

“Mor has taken it upon herself to make you a breakfast. I think she intended to do a breakfast in bed, though you may be able to tell she slept through a few wake up calls and missed her chance,” He said after a moment, scribbling something on one of the pages and placing it gently in a pile on the counter.  
  
“Breakfast? For me?” I asked, a bit incredulously.   
  
“Of course, Feyre. You deserve it, after how well you’ve done in your training,” Rhys’ violet eyes finally met mine, and his gaze seemed to sear through me as he examined my body for any sign of illness, distress, and Cauldron knew what else.  
  
“Am a child, earning good marks from Teacher Cassian?” I snorted at the thought.

Rhys’ lips tightened slightly. “I don’t mean to patronize you. But if you’d rather skip the meal, it is your decision…”  
  
“Of course not,” I replied irately, squeezing the fruit in my hand. “I just…wasn’t expecting such a gesture, that’s all,”  
  
“I agree it’s a bit over the top, but you might come to expect that of my dear cousin, given time,” The edges of Rhys’s mouth angled up, and there was a kindness in his eyes I did not expect. I felt the distinct but gentle caress of his talons over the adamant walls of my mind, wondering what it was he was trying to find within them. I bit back, shoving them away and was met with a growing smirk playing across his mouth.

“So did Mor give up on cooking, then?” I averted, nodding towards the slumbering queen who had now rolled over on her iron chaise.   
  
“She wandered out there while the croissants were baking twenty minutes ago, and evidently found it more relaxing,” Rhys rolled his eyes.  
  
I grinned. Mor, it seemed, was not a morning person.   
  
“And have you been baking anything, as well?” I prodded teasingly, running my thumb across the rippled peel of the fruit in my hand. Rhys’s violet eyes followed the movement as he shifted slightly in his stool, angling closer to me, the papers laid down and forgotten behind us.  
  
“I confess my skills lie outside the kitchen,” he matched my grin, but there was a mischief beneath it. I saw as his eyes raked over me, probably taking in the silken robe that did little to disguise the contours of my body, and I realized I may as well have been wearing that gown of cobwebs from the Under the Mountain. Why had I not put on something more sensible before coming down?  
  
But a part of me found some strange satisfaction in how it seemed to distract him completely, like in some way I finally held the upper hand, as if it might make up for all the times he had bested my growing powers while training these last few weeks.  
  
I sat up straighter, letting my thighs press into the stool beneath me as I arched my back slightly. The only sound between us was the clattering of silverware and the sizzling of meat as the wraiths continued their work, our bodies still faced toward one another, so very close. My eyes, my _traitorous_ eyes, marked the way his muscled shifted underneath the fabric of his shirt, as he straightened up where he sat too, how the veins of his neck snaked down to meet the swirls of tattoos peeking out of his collar, how strong his forearms looked by the rolled-up sleeves of his simple black button-down shirt…

My face felt hot, and I found myself grasping that piece of fruit a little _too_ tightly. It burst in my palm, sending jets of juice all over the front of my robe. I jumped up, flinching, and made to grab a towel, waving off a concerned Nuala but Rhys disappeared the stain with a quick wave of his hand. He smirked at me, his violet gaze lingering a little too long over the place where the juice had spilt in my lap as I blushed furiously.   
  
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I muttered lowly, when Nuala had turned back to the other side of the kitchen to tend to the cooking.  
  
Rhysand’s eyes snapped back to mine. “What? Clean up your messes?” I wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk right off his face.  
  
“Look at me…like that,” I pressed, smoothing out my silken robes again.  
  
Rhysand’s cheeky look only strengthened as he leaned back against the wall where he sat, and crossed his arms. “Like what?”  
  
“Like you’ve seen me naked, “I hissed, blushing, praying the wraith twins could not hear over the clattering of the kitchen activity.   
  
“Well, you might recall, I very nearly _have_ \--”  
  
I knew he was thinking of that sheer cobweb gown, but I let out an angry huff, feigning more offense than I really felt. But my hand was inches from wiping that stupid grin from his face when a welcome voice sang out from behind us.  
  
“Feyre!”   
  
I spun around in my stool, a smile swiftly replacing the scowl. “Mor!”   
  
“I’m so glad you’re up!” She pulled me into a quick but warm embrace. I awkwardly patted her back, but felt grateful all the same.  
  
“I’m making you breakfast!” she proclaimed.  
  
“Yes, a breakfast which you are so clearly _slaving away_ over…” Rhysand muttered as he nodded towards Nuala, who was now balancing a bowl of batter against her hip as she simultaneously whisked another bowl of egg whites. I bit my lip to keep from bursting out in a laugh as Rhys raised a brow at his cousin.  
  
“Show me the last time you ever cooked for yourself, Rhys, and we’ll talk,” Mor jabbed as she pulled me over to sit with her instead at the high counter island in the center of the kitchen’s tiled floor. “I was just…napping,”  
  
Rhys just raised a groomed, dark brow and returned to looking at his papers, taking a long sip of tea from a delicate cup near his side.  
  
“Rhys said you usually sleep late when Cas isn’t kicking your ass with morning trainings, so I thought I’d whip something up,” Mor explained, turning back to me.  
  
“Well, that’s usually true enough. But this morning I woke up and then couldn’t fall back asleep so…” I trailed off, if not a bit too casually. Mor saw right through it.  
  
“Night time visitors, again?” she said lowly, her honey gaze pointed.

“I assure you, it wasn’t me,” Rhys chimed from behind us. I chucked a piece of fruit from the bowl straight at his head. But he easily flicked it away into nothing with a lazy wave. It was Mor’s turn to stifle a chuckle.  
  
“Anyway, I invited Cas and Az and Amren, too. I thought you could do with some cheering up…” she trailed off awkwardly. But I didn’t mind. I appreciated the thought, more than she probably knew.  
  
_She knows_ … Rhys’ voice echoed through my mind.   
  
“Stay out of my head, or next time it’ll be the ceramic bowl I throw, not a fruit,” I snapped. He only flashed those pearly teeth of his in a playful smile.   
  
“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Mor looked between us both. “If you’re talking mind to mind through your precious bon-” Mor stopped short, eyes widened ever so slightly. Rhys’s face looked like he’d strangle her for a flash.   
  
“Bargain,” she finished. I glanced down at my tattooed palm, that cat eye still omnipresent and shot Rhys a dry glare.  
  
“So grumpy in the mornings,” Rhys muttered.  
  
“ _Daemati_ , so arrogant,” Mor waved him off. “Don’t you have work to do, _High Lord_?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I need to go file these, call me when my brothers get here?” Rhys answered, clutching his pile of papers as he whisked out the door.   
  
“Yes, _your majesty_ ,” Mor mumbled after him, rolling her eyes at me. A part of me shouldn’t have been surprised by the casual mocking the two of them did by now. They were cousins, after all, and Rhys’s court was so much more…familiar than Tamlin’s had been. But it still surprised me every time.

“Rhsyand does an awful lot of paperwork and official trips,” I said lightly after he disappeared. “Are all High Lords so…busy?”  
  
“Trust me, he would be home more if he could. I try to help him with the territory visits when I can, but…Rhys is our true leader, and with that comes obligations,”  
  
I pondered this. Wondered if he had a partner, a lover, of his own, if they too would be cast aside and excluded. Like I had been, with…him. Tamlin.  
  
“Sometimes I wonder if he could use a High Lady, to help him share the load,” Mor’s eyes sparkled, as is she too could read my mind.  
  
“There’s no such thing as a High Lady,” I echoed the words Tamlin had once said to me, weeks ago. Those days that now felt like years ago.

“That may be so…not _yet_ anyway,” was all Mor answered before rising to help Cerridwen, who stood holding a stack of cutlery and glasses precariously in her arms.   
  
“Can I help?” I asked. Cerridwen’s shadow-ringed face warmed as she silently nodded and gestured to a plate of warm pastries. I balanced it in my hands and walked it to the large oak dining table in the next room, where Mor had already set about delicately arranging the floral center pieces.   
  
“You really don’t need to go to such efforts for me,” I muttered sheepishly as I set down the tray.  
  
“Nonsense,” Mor clucked, adding a sprig of eucalyptus to the tall silver vase. “I enjoy it,”  
  
The trill of the front doorbell interrupted us, and Mor perked up. “I’ll get it!” She called behind her as she whisked away through the foyer to the stain-glass lined antechamber doors.   
  
I set about adding more sprigs to the centerpieces on the dining table, happy to let my mind go blank with the menial task. I barely heard the coming chatter of whoever had arrived until two behemoth Illyrians stood in the tall arched dining entry before me, wings grazing the woodwork.  
  
“Morning Feyre,” Cassian said, plopping down in one of the wide backed chairs and resting his legs upon another. “Enjoy your morning off?”  
  
I edged a pristine white plate to a more aligned placement on the table, “To be honest, I sort of miss the aching muscles. It’s a pleasant way to start the day,”   
  
Cassian grinned proudly, “That’s my girl,”  
  
I looked at the Shadowsinger, Azriel, who was still quietly standing under the arch. I nodded in greeting to him warmly and gestured for him to sit. His shadows swirled as he winnowed the few feet to the chair at the head of the table.  
  
“Unnecessary, brother,” Cassian muttered, but Azriel just grinned, actually _grinned_ back. I tried to hide my surprise, for the Shadowsinger was often so…subdued.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here…for whatever this is,” I said, now laying silverware on either side of the plates.  
  
“It’s a party now,” Cassian grinned.  
  
“Mor said food, so here we are,” Azriel’s eyes twinkled.  
  
The groan of the swinging oak kitchen door revealed Mor’s golden head.

“Why are you two sitting? I need help in here!” she barked, and I spied a frilly apron to match Cerridwen’s now tied around her waist.  
  
“Nice outfit,” Cassian doubled over in laughter.  
  
“ _Now_ , Cas,” Mor ordered, ignoring his teasing, her usually warm face turning steely.

“Are we not guests?” Cassian asked, arranging his face into an expression I could only describe as puppy-like. Mor looked fit to burst into angry flame, and Azriel coughed to stifle a laugh.  
  
“You have to work for your keep around here,” I interjected, trying to keep the laugh from breaking out of me as well. I made to step back towards the kitchen, but Mor stopped me.  
  
“No, you stay and relax, Feyre. This is _your_ party,”  
  
“See, it _is_ a party!” Cassian said.  
  
“Yes,” Mor replied curtly and disappeared behind the door again.  
  
Azriel disappeared with a swirl of wind and I heard his boots land on the tile in the kitchen beyond.

“Once again, _unnecessary_ , brother!” Cassian called into the kitchen as he reluctantly stomped off after him. I sighed and shook my head, marveling at how these hundreds-of-years old fae could somehow still seem so…youthful, joyous, eager.  
  
“They are idiots, aren’t they?” a silvery voice said behind me. I whirled around to find Amren, already perched on the far seat of the table, folding a napkin in her lap, so small compared to those oversized chairs made for Illyrian wings. I marveled at her ability to enter a room so silently, and a part of me cowered at the thought of what she could do if she decided she was bored with playing nice…   
  
“Hello, girl,” the female inclined her head slightly, her blood-red lips curled into a wicked smile. “ _Happy birthday_ ,”  
  
My stomach dropped, as I stared dumbfounded at her.  
  
“B-birthday?” I stammered, my voice suddenly sounding small. “How did you know…?”  
  
Amren’s smile broke her mouth apart, revealing her pearlescent teeth beneath. “It _is_ the solstice today, is it not?”  
  
My mouth hung agape. I hadn’t fully realized the date, having lost count of the days I’d spent here in this city. Indeed, in a world such as Prythian, dates and the passing of time seemed less important, years in themselves an insignificant unit. And as for my birthday, well…They had never been given much importance even in my human days.  
  
“Don’t tell them,” I begged, nearly desperately, taking a seat next to her. “Please,”  
  
Surprise grew in those shrouded silver eyes, but she nodded all the same. “As you wish, Cursebreaker,”

Nuala appeared, carefully clutching a large goblet that she placed quickly in front of Amren with a low bow. Amren took it wordlessly and sipped deeply, emerging with a deeper stain of red across her lips. She dabbed at her mouth with the white napkin, and my eyes watched as the blood soaked through the cloth.  
  
“Forgive me for not waiting for everyone to eat but…I’m hungry,” she said, as she took another long drink.   
  
When I was sure the kitchen still sounded busy and any of the rest of them wouldn’t be returning to the table, I asked, “Do birthdays mean anything here?” I kept my voice low. “When immortals don’t have old age to count towards?”  
  
Amren set down the goblet lightly, and considered it for a moment. “Yes, and no. I do not think the fae care for the counting aspect of birthdays so much as the excuse for revelry. They are hedonistic creatures, you might have noticed. Particularly the High Fae variety,”  
  
“You say _they_ ,” I started carefully. “Not _we_?”  
  
Amren stilled and cast her gaze out the wide bay window above the table, towards the orange morning sky. “I am fae, and am not fae. I was made, as you were,” I absent-mindedly bit the bottom inside of my lip, turning my gaze to the window again, where I saw a soft swath of snowflakes had begun to fall. They glistened on the windowsill as they gathered. I wanted to ask her more, understand what she meant, but I was frightened. Of her, or what she would say, I wasn’t sure.  
  
“I do not belong here,” she continued, sensing my unease. “But it is the home I have chosen all the same. Just like you,”  
  
I shifted in my chair, my heart dropping slightly. “I am not like you,” I said, though not unkindly. “I will always be human, in some way. No matter how long I live nor how many parties they throw me,”   
  
Amren surveyed me again, her head tilted, like she were examining some novelty found in the Rainbow. Something to be considered, something to be marveled at. I shrunk away from her scrutiny and stood up to go back to the kitchen.  
  
My hand was poised to push through the door when her voice came from behind me, “A human heart in a fae body is not a thing to regret, Feyre,”   
  
I stopped and turned as my hand still rested against the doorframe. “I’m not sure where my heart is…not anymore,”

Amren said nothing to that, a sadness like I had never seen in her eyes flashing on her face. But I just pushed the door open, perhaps a bit too forcefully, and walked through, leaving the female there.

Mor had Cassian and Azriel loading another platter full of food whilst the wraiths swept the last of the dishes from the stovetop. They were busied enough that I knew that hadn’t heard our conversation, but I felt awkward all the same.  
  
“Everything alright, Feyre?” Cassian asked immediately when he glanced to me.  
  
“Yes, just hungry,” I lied. “Anything else I can help with?”  
  
“Everything is just about ready, take this platter out and we’ll be there in a flash,” Mor said, handing a large silver platter of fruit to me. I accepted it dutifully as we all piled back out to the dining room.  
  
“Hello, aunty Amren,” Cassian teased as he took a seat beside the petite female. “Enjoying your slaughtered baby goat’s blood?”  
  
“Don’t test me, you overgrown bat,” Amren snapped, but they both smiled.  
  
“I’m surprised to see you here this early,” Azriel said to her gently as he gracefully lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side. “You usually sleep until noon,”  
  
“Not noon,” Amren lifted her head proudly. “Ten, usually,”

“Well, we thank you for making the effort,” Mor muttered as she arranged the plates and platters, the warm scents of the pastries, fruit and meat suddenly making my stomach ache in hunger. Once it seemed that she was happy with the setting, she took her seat to the right of the head chair, and gestured for me to take the left side.

“Where’s Rhys?” Cassian asked. “Surely not sleeping in?”  
  
“No, brother,” the High Lord appeared at the top of the stairs, and I notice he changed. His clothing was still more simple than his usual jackets and layers of satin shirts, but he looked cut and fresh in a dark navy shirt so dark its nearly black flecked with subtle silvery embroidery, not unlike the night sky. Amren was right, High Fae really were so very…decadent.   
  
Mor pointed to the chair between us, at the head of the table. “Glad you could pull yourself away from your _paper filing_ ,”  
  
Rhys shot her a narrow-eyed glance before turning to me.  
  
“Shall you start the feast by taking the first bite, Feyre?” he pushed a plate toward me.  
  
“I think Cassian beat me to it,” I tipped my head toward the long-haired Illyrian.  
  
Cassian froze mid-bite, his hand already clutching a half-eaten almond pastry. He shrugged apologetically. “What’s the occasion, anyway? Not that we question the opportunity for free food,”  
  
My face warmed and I shot Amren a pleading glance. I knew she would heed my request, but I still steeled those adamant walls in my mind so that Rhys or the others would not figure it out all the same.  
  
“Well, funny you should ask…” Mor’s face erupted in a grin so wide I thought I had missed a joke. I looked at them all, as their faces lit up in response to something behind me.  
  
I edged a glance at Rhys, who looked as bewildered as I felt. Slowly, I turned my body around and gasped.  
  
Nuala and Cerridwen stood there, evidently after sneaking in from the kitchen, carrying…a cake. Frosted in silver, topped with glittering candles lit with the unmistakable blue flame of faelight. My mouth dropped open in panic.

“Happy birthday Feyre!” Mor exclaimed, and the rest of them laughed in delight.  
  
“You didn’t say it was your birthday!” Cassian looked almost offended, but he was smiling in amusement. I just shrugged apologetically.  
  
“Your first birthday as fae. As one of us,” Mor said gently, embracing me warmly as the wraiths set the cake on the table in front of me.  
  
“On the solstice, no less. The longest night of the year,” The Shadowsinger said, something unreadable on his face as he stared at his High Lord.  
  
I was speechless, a flurry of emotions cutting across my heart. I had never liked surprises, or parties for that matter… but this…this felt...different.  
  
“It’s…your birthday?” Rhys asked weakly, turning to me, his skin paled. I didn’t know how to respond, how to explain.  
  
I could only nod wordlessly, finally letting my mouth break into a shy smile.  “But how did…how did you find out?” I asked Mor. “I never told anyone,”  
  
“I have my ways,” Mor said with a surreptitious look towards Amren, who smiled deviously. But I didn’t have time to interrogate them further before a plate of cake was presented to me and the room was filled with chatter, laughter and celebration as they dug into the feast.   
  
I felt like I was in shock as I followed suit, not really tasting the food. I wanted to revel in this surprise, but I still felt like I was living someone else’s life, like this couldn’t really be happening to…me.  
  
“Eat, Feyre,” Rhys’ voice came from my side, as he gentle leaned into my ear. “It’s delicious,”

I struggled to look at him, like he would see right through me.  
  
_You deserve this, Feyre._ His voice sang through my mind like the sigh of a gentle evening wind. His face was full of an emotion I could not name as he watched me hesitantly taste the cake. The silver-blue frosting sweet and flavored like some berry I didn’t know, and the cake beneath was a decadent champagne color. I had to admit it was divine and probably too sweet for breakfast but I didn’t find myself caring.

_You deserve this and more._

For some stupid reason, my eyes began to sparkle, tears pooling and threatening to spill over. I quickly made to wipe them away, but Rhys’s hand caught mine, covering it softly with his own as he moved them in tandem. And I felt my fingers warm as they began to glow slightly. I marveled at it as they neared my face, unsure if it were my power or his. As they touched my eyelids, the tears evaporated instantly. I blinked in fear, but I hadn’t felt a burn.  
  
_That’s quite a trick._ I let my hand break from his and took another bite of cake, hoping no one had noticed. _  
  
_ The corners of his eyes crinkled into a laugh. _I’ve had years of practice._

_What, of crying? Such babies, you Illyrians._

Rhys erupted into a delighted laugh and I pursued my lips, but I couldn’t keep a smile from my lips.  
  
“Thank you,” I said, turning back to face them all. “For everything,”  
  
They all just nodded, smiles still plastered on their faces.   
  
I did not understand how they could all be so kind, so giving, to a stranger from an enemy court. To someone who was not even fully apart of their world, to someone who had nothing much to give. But I was grateful, for all of it.  
  
And I felt it then, as I watched them eat and revel together. Watched them tease and joke, more like siblings than courtiers and royals. Watched the love that was so evident fill the room. I felt it…I felt what it was to be apart of something. Apart of a family. And suddenly the night ahead did not seem so cold and long.  



End file.
